


Wash It Out

by thegeekgene



Series: Wash It Out [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: College AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:39:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegeekgene/pseuds/thegeekgene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts in the campus laundry room and it would be a meet cute except they’ve already met and it’s not really cute. It’s kind of morose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash It Out

Tavros has a load in the washer and he’s a little late to move it; he’d been cornered by Eridan, again, and extricating himself took some time. It’s Wednesday afternoon, not normally a high traffic time for laundry, so he doesn’t think it’ll be a big deal. He has, however, failed to calculate in the up coming long weekend and the number of people rushing to wash their things before they start packing so the machines are more crowded than usual. The machines are, in fact, all full. And when he arrives, ten minutes after his load was due to be done, someone was yanking it out and dropping it into the basket he’d left on the floor.

“Oh, hey,” he says, hurrying over. “I’m sorry, I’ve got it.”

“You,” says the someone, who Tavros happens to know as Karkat. They were in the same freshman seminar and he’d never known someone with such strong opinions on Batman. “I should have known it was you. No one else could combine the kind of incompetence required to leave their laundry sitting for that fucking long with fashion sense that egregious.” He chucks a damp pair of jeans at Tavros’s chest. “There. Now hurry the fuck up, I’ve got shit to do.”

“Sorry,” Tavros says, again, automatic. Then he remembers what Aradia said about standing up for himself and adds, “My load’s only been done for a few minutes. I set a timer on my phone, so I would know.”

“That minutes of my precious time wasted because you couldn’t make it back on time,” Karkat snaps and Tavros scowls, even as he picks up where Karkat left off filling his basket.

“That was not my fault,” he says. “Eridan caught me in the hall.” He doesn’t really expect that to signify, not to Karkat, for whom no excuse ever seems sufficient. He’s surprised when some of the righteous indignation melts away into what looks oddly like sympathy.

“Oh, fuck,” Karkat says. “You, too? I’ve talked to him about this, dammit.”

“Is he pitch for you, too?” Tavros asks, though it’s none of his business.

“Flush,” Karkat answers. “Or he was. Now I think he’s trying for pale, even though he knows damn well about me and Gamzee.”

“Gamzee?” Tavros freezes in the act of dropping his last handful of underclothes into the basket. He feels himself going bronze in the face. “You -- you’re Gamzee’s palemate?”

Karkat bristles.

“Yeah,” he says. “What the fuck business is that of yours?”

Tavros unfreezes, hurriedly stuffs his nethergarments into his basket, and makes a break for an empty dryer.

“Nothing,” he says. “None, it’s none of my business, he just talked about you so much, but never mentioned your name, and I didn’t realize -- It’s none of my business, sorry.”

“Damn right it’s not,” Karkat says, but it’s a considering tone and he’s looking at Tavros carefully. “Nitram,” he says. “Your name’s Nitram, right?”

“Tavros,” he corrects, automatically. “Nitram is my signifier.”

“Tavros,” Karkat says. “Tav -- of course. You guys did that shitty slam poetry thing, last year. What ever happened to that?”

Tavros faces the dryer with great determination and hopes his name isn’t as brown as it feels.

“There wasn’t really that much interest,” he says. “And me and, uh, Gamzee, and these two humans -- ”

“Striders,” Karkat guesses.

“Yeah, them, and that was it, four isn’t really enough to keep a club going, and then some other stuff happened so we, uh, disbanded. That’s all,” he finishes, a bit lamely.

“Some other stuff happened,” Karkat repeats. “You turned him down, didn’t you?”

Tavros freezes, again, and struggled to get a word out.

“Wh -- Wha -- What?”

“You turned him down,” Karkat repeats. “I mean, you must have. He spent a semester and a half drooling over you, then stopped and never mentioned that fucking club again, so I figured he got rejected. But I had no idea it was _you_. I wouldn’t have thought you had the glands to refuse anybody.”

“I’ve had practice,” Tavros says, irritation taking the edge off his humiliation. “With people way more, uh, determined, than Gamzee. And didn’t you say you were his palemate?” he adds, turning to glare at Karkat. “Why did you have to figure that out, on your own? Shouldn’t you be talking with him about it?”

“The private details of my moirallegiance are none of your business,” Karkat says.

“But the private details of, my whole life, are yours?”

They stand glaring at each other for a long moment. Then, Karkat huffs and begins loading the washer. Tavros thinks, with not a little spite, that no one who owns that much black and gray has any right to criticize someone else’s sartorial choices. He goes back to the dryer, assuming the conversation to be over.

It’s as he’s going to the get the dryer sheets he stowed behind the door of the supply closet (the other choices were hauling them around and letting them be stolen) he catches another glimpse of Karkat. The washer is loaded and started and he’s holding his detergent in one hand. He’s clearly done, has no reason to be there anymore, but he’s not moving. His gray eyes are narrowed, fangs worrying one full lip and he looks tired, Tavros thinks. He looks so tired.

Tavros casts around his brain for something to say and comes up with, “Did he take it hard?”

Karkat looks up like he hadn’t known anyone else was there. Which is silly, they were talking three minutes ago.

“Gamzee,” Tavros says and, watching closely, he can see Karkat grimace at the name. “Did he take, uh, me turning him down -- Did he take it hard?”

Karkat blinks then laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound.

“How the fuck should I know?” he says. “As you correctly fucking deduced, he doesn’t talk to me! About anything! He could be mourning your rejection to this very moment or he could have forgotten about it in ten minutes! We just don’t know. We’ll probably never know, seeing as his palemate is a useless amalgamation of insect droppings who can’t even fulfill the most basic fucking function a moirail is meant to fill, that being, getting his partner to fucking talk to him every once in a while.”

“Oh,” Tavros says. “Wow.”

“Wow is fucking right,” Karkat says. “Now what the turd-birthing fuck are you staring at?” This he addresses to a pair of humans who’ve just stepped into the laundry room, one loaded down with clothes, the other carrying detergent. They are staring. As one, they turn and walk out again.

Despite himself, Tavros snorts. Karkat turns his furious gaze back to him at the sound and Tavros actually giggles a bit.

“What?” Karkat demands.

“Turd-birthing,” says Tavros, but he can’t seem to stop laughing.

After a few seconds, Karkat’s fury seems to abate and he actually smiles a tiny bit.

“Yes, my rage is hilarious,” he says. “That’s enough, now.”

“I think it’s usually called ‘shitting’, is all,” Tavros says.

“If you have a problem with my rhetorical flourishes -- ”

“No! They’re great.”

“Fuck, yeah, they are,” Karkat says -- and he looks less tired than before.

Tavros returns to his laundry, dryer sheets in hand, and adds one to the load. A dollar and a half in quarters later, he’s done. And Karkat, who was done a while ago, is still standing there. The Aradia voice in Tavros’s head speaks, reminds him the emotional well-being of relative strangers isn’t his responsibility, but he’s never been much good at following that particular advice.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” he says. “If Gamzee won’t talk to you then that’s, uh, on him. He’s the one who’s not being a good moirail, by not letting you in. And that’s, uh, not your fault.”

Karkat looks over at him. Glaring, but Tavros is starting think that’s habitual.

“Are you in the counseling program or something?” he asks.

Tavros blinks.

“Uh. No?” He’s a biology major, actually, planning to apply to veterinary school, but he doubts Karkat would be interested in that.

“You sound like my fucking therapist.” Karkat says. “And, really, the fact I have both a moirail and a therapist just goes to show there’s something seriously fucked up in the moirallegiance.” Tavros isn’t entirely sure that’s true -- Sollux comes to mind -- but he doesn’t interrupt. “But I already knew that,” Karkat goes on. “I’ve always known that. Ever since coming here, I mean. We came to this fucking school so we could stay together and what happens? We fall the fuck apart within a month of moving in. That’s what kills me, that it was so fucking _fast_. I must have done something wrong or he wouldn’t be so fucking desperate to get away from me.”

“But you’re still palemates, right?” Tavros says. “And we’re juniors, now. If he were really desperate to get rid of you, he would have, uh, dumped you. By now.”

“We’re palemates in name only,” Karkat says. “We haven’t jammed in months.”

Tavros grimaces. He’s never had a moirail, not really, so he can’t imagine how Karkat feels. He suspects it sucks, though. He says as much.

Karkat laughs, again. It’s a little smoother than before, but Tavros suspects it always carries that jagged edge. It’s not bad, really.

“Yeah, well. You’re right about that,” he says. And then, out of nowhere, “Want me to talk to Eridan for you?”

It takes Tavros a moment to make the leap back.

“What?” he says. “Oh! I -- uh -- Do you think it would help?”

“I dunno. Maybe? He listens to me maybe a third of time, so it’s worth a shot.”

“That would be great,” Tavros says. “Thanks. It would be nice to be able to go to history class and, uh, actually learn something.”

“I hear you there. We took Modern Middle East together back when he was flushed for me. Dolorosa actually kicked him out of class on my behalf. Twice.”

“I wish Dr. Harley would do that. But he’s human, I don’t think he understands what’s going on.”

“Then you make him understand,” Karkat says, very serious. “Consupient harassment, no matter the quadrant, is a conduct code violation, in addition to being gross as fuck, and professors have a duty to stop it.”

Tavros tried to imagine explaining kismessitude and black flirtation to Dr. Harley. The guy’s probably old enough to remember the first contact between Earth and Alternia. He shrugs.

“I guess.”

“You guess nothing,” Karkat says. “Talk to him or I will drag you to his office and do it for you. Eridan will never learn if people keep letting him get away with this crap.”

There’s something odd about what Karkat is saying and Tavros takes an involuntary step back when he realizes what it is.

“That’s not necessary,” he says.

“Like hell it isn’t.”

“No, really,” Tavros says. “We don’t need an auspictice.”

Karkat stares at him.

“I’m not interested in Eridan,” Tavros continues. “At all. In any quadrant. Black or ashen. So, I appreciate the offer but, uh, no. Thank you.”

Karkat stares a moment longer then curses.

“I’m doing it again,” he says. “Fuck dammit, I’m doing it again.”

Tavros doesn’t know what to make of that.

“You -- do this often?” he asks.

“No!” Karkat says. “Yes! Sort of! Not generally ashen but I’m got a conciliation problem. I want to pacify everyone and fix every feud and it got better when things were good with Gamzee but now -- fuck!”

He’s looking around wildly, as if for a bridge to throw himself off, and Tavros steps closer again.

“So -- So, you’re not -- ?” he begins.

“Hell, no,” Karkat says. “I’m not ashen, I’m just an idiot.”

“No, you’re not,” he says at once. “And, if it helps, I do the same thing?”

“Accidentally proposition people in the laundry room?”

“Not -- as a habit? But I understand the conciliation thing. My friend says I’m ‘pale for the world’. But she also says I’ll stop, once I settle into the pale quadrant.”

“You will,” Karkat agrees. “Assuming you don’t fuck it up like I did.”

“I just won’t fuck it up, then.”

Tavros is expecting Karkat to explode and, for a moment, it looks like Karkat is, too. But then it passes at Karkat is just looking at him, intense and -- appraising? Tavros isn’t sure but he returns the favor.

Karkat is shorter than him by a few inches and thicker by the same amount -- except maybe the hips, but Tavros has what one of the Striders called ‘child-bearing hips’ so that’s not a surprise. It looks like muscle on Karkat, like strength, and while Tavros is nothing like as weak as he looks, he envies that. His hair is the perpetual rat’s nest Tavros remembers from freshman year and his eyes aren’t turning, yet. Tavros’s are, just a bit, but it’s not unusual for higher bloodcastes to take longer. He realizes he has no idea what color Karkat is. Most trolls wear their colors openly but he’s not sure he’s ever seen Karkat in anything but monochrome; even his jeans are gray. The rest of his features hold no hint -- he doesn’t have the long jaw and high cheekbones of the highest bloodcastes, nor the round face and blunt nose of lowbloods. Even if he did, what would that prove? Sollux looks cobalt-aristocratic and Feferi would be rust, if those stereotypes held true. Tavros wonders if there’s a non-creepy way to get a look at his tongue.

Or his bulge.

It’s a good thing Karkat speaks right then, or Tavros might have combusted from sheer embarrassment and shock.

“So you know all about my quadrants,” Karkat says. “How about yours?”

Tavros jumps on the subject.

“That’s your only one?” he says. “Gamzee?”

“My one and only,” Karkat says, voice thick with irony. “So spill. I can’t be the only one embarrassing myself, here.”

“Oh,” Tavros says. “Sorry, I guess you, uh, have to be? I don’t have any filled. I mean, there’s Aradia, but she’s got a moirail.”

“Are you somebody’s bit on the side, Nitram?”

“N -- no!” He flares copper, again. “No! It’s not -- We don’t -- She just -- gives me advice! And Sollux is always there, so it’s not weird!”

“Sollux?” Karkat looks at him hard, again, then breaks into a smile. “Captor? He always said he had two moirails I didn’t believe him. And one of them doesn’t even know about it, that’s so fucked up it’s beautiful. Holy shit, you just made my night.”

“Two moirails?” Tavros isn’t sure he actually says it; he’s too busy thinking it. Thinking it, and thinking other things; about Sollux and Aradia and the advice she gives him and the gloomy commiseration he offers when he doesn’t; about the ghosts -- literal and metaphorical -- he and Sollux chase away when Aradia is feeling over-whelmed; about long nights in the library or in their apartment, just off campus, and the feeling of safety and home he finds every time he sees them.

Is that moirallegiance?

“I think I need to talk to Aradia,” he says, when the answer comes too easily. “And Sollux.”

“You fuckers are so kinky,” Karkat says. “It’s as disgusting as it is hilarious.”

“We aren’t disgusting,” Tavros says, automatic. “At least we actually talk about stuff with our -- oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”

The amusement has drained from Karkat’s face, leaving behind something empty and awful.

“I’m sorry,” Tavros says, again.

“No,” Karkat says. “It’s fine. It’s nothing. That was fair. I have no right to criticize how anyone else conducts their pale quadrant and you were right to point that out.”

“I wasn’t,” Tavros says. “That was awful, I shouldn’t -- ”

“Oh, stop it. Save your pity for your moirails.”

“It’s not -- ” Tavros begins.

And then he stops.

It occurs to him, quite suddenly, that pity actually is what’s happening here. He’s liked Karkat almost despite himself for the whole of their casual acquaintance, but never talked with him one on one before. He’s started to find that even being the sole target of more than one vitriolic rant hasn’t stopped that. It’s actually kind of cute, how hard he tries, and gut-wrenching how easy it is to get him to open up.

He says, “What if I don’t want to?” and Karkat glares.

“We’ve already established that our pale quadrants are full,” he says. “Over-full, in your case, you raging pale slut. And I may be a shitty excuse for a moirail on almost every single level but I’m not about to go for the title belt and cheat on him.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Tavros says.

“Then what the fuck are you asking?” Karkat demands. “Last I checked there were only two options for pity and if pale’s -- off the table -- ”

He slows down near the end and stops. Tavros can almost hear the penny drop and feels his face go warm, again. Aradia is in his head, telling him about confidence, about how rejection sucks but never trying is worse. Telling him to be brave, to go for it.

Karkat is staring at him wide-eyed, mouth half-open. It’s a nice mouth, wide and full-lipped, and Tavros goes for it.

There’s a moment of uncertainty, of pounding fear, as Karkat doesn’t move and Tavros wonders how bad he’s fucked up, if an apology will be enough or if he’ll have to transfer out of state, if Sollux and Aradia will mind jamming over Skype.

And then Karkat kisses him back.

It turns rough in an instant, Karkat going in hard and bitey and Tavros would have expected that if he’d thought about it a few seconds longer, but he didn’t so it’s a surprise. Not a bad one, though, it’s nice, makes his blood rush, makes him feel present in a way he doesn’t, much, real and connected and Tavros hasn’t kissed a lot of people but this is nice. It’s really nice.

Tavros shoves Karkat back against the washing machine, finds the angle awkward and lifts him up to sit on it. Karkat curses and flails then goes right back to kissing him, taking advantage of his new position to wrap arms and legs alike around Tavros, dragging him close and, wow, the vibrations from the running washer sure are a thing.

Karkat is warm against him, warmer than any troll he’s ever known, warmer even than Aradia, and his mouth is hot and fascinating, a place Tavros could easily get lost. Tavros holds him tight around the waist, pressed full body against him, can feel his bulge getting interested in all that heat, all that vibration, and, shit, all he’d wanted was to kiss him, this is getting too serious too fast and he knows that, like he knows a lot of things but none of them will stick in his head and he finds himself holding on tighter, moaning when Karkat bites down on his lip.

A vast thud interrupts them.

Tavros jerks back, stumbling, still tangled in Karkat’s grabby limbs, and falls over on his ass. Karkat gives a near-shriek of irritation and when Tavros looks around for the source of the noise he sees a full laundry basket on the ground by the door.

“Those fucking kids, again,” Karkat says.

“Oh.” Tavros blinks.

He looks back at Karkat, still perched on the washing machine. His mouth looks a little swollen and while kissing him again doesn’t sound bad, Tavros figures the moment is gone.

Karkat hops down and offers him a hand up. Tavros takes his time but, once he’d upright, he still has no idea what to say.

“So,” he tries. “Uh.” That’s all he’s got.

Karkat gives him a moment then snorts.

“You ever see Notting Hill?” he asks.

Tavros wonders if he hit his head when he fell. It doesn’t hurt, though.

“No?” he hazards.

“Typical,” Karkat says. “Do you have a roommate?”

“No,” he says again.

“Your place, then. Mine is unavailable for obvious clown reasons. Where do you live?”

Tavros tells him, still bewildered.

“I’ll see you at seven,” Karkat says.

And then he kisses him.

And then he walks out.

It’s a minute or two before Tavros follows. When he gets to his room, he sends Aradia a text.

“uH, sO, i THINK I HAVE A DATE?”

**Author's Note:**

> This hasn't been betaed. Let me know if there are any terrible mistakes. Thanks for reading.


End file.
